What could you possibly say to make this alright?
by lailamoonchild
Summary: Sam tells Dean and his dad he's going to college. My attempt at the fight that separated the Winchesters for years to come. While Sam and John are butting heads, Dean is lost in the middle.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I don't own the show, the boys, or the network. Don't hate, don't sue =)

**Spoilers:** Pilot

**Another warning:** This is about Sam telling John that he wants to go to college, so I guess you all know it's not going to be fluffy and lighthearted ;)

Here I go, quoting the Journal back to you:

"Sam gets resentful and has some trouble handling his temper. Dean tries to fix everything and keep us together as a team. Neither of them should have to do those things." (p.86)

"I can't blame him for wanting a normal life, but I wouldn't be much of a dad if I didn't prepare them for the world they're living in. Doing what's right for your kids doesn't always mean doing what they want. (p.100)

**I'd like to thank my wonderful Beta:** Jennifer, I can't thank you enough for holding my hand through this ^^

+#+

+#+

**So what could you possibly say to make that alright?**

+#+

I try to say goodbye and I choke  
I try to walk away and I stumble  
Though I try to hide it it's clear  
My world crumbles when you are not near

I Try- Macy Gray

+#+

Dean woke from his father's peremptory tone.

He hadn't used that on him for over a year, didn't ask much of Dean anymore. Didn't have to.

Run four miles in the morning, then practice your moves, then take Sammy to school… then breakfast.  
Well, over the years taking Sam to school had changed into watching him round the first corner and then taking off to wherever Dean managed to find work,  
and breakfast had turned into whatever greasy, artery-clogging junk his co-workers were having.

Sparring and running had stayed the same, though and so did the feeling of being responsible for his little brother.

It was all so engrained in him that some mornings he practically woke up running. He liked the predictability of this. No matter where they were going, some things just never changed.

Except now his father's face was only a couple of inches away from his own, barking something Dean quickly realized were death threats, John's expression hovering between rage and fear. Fear?

He looked around for Sam, scrambling to get up from where he'd sunken into the cushions. He should've called Sam again before he crashed on the big leather easy chair yesterday,  
but he'd been dead beat, the three steps that separated him from the phone had posed an insurmountable obstacle.

He'd worked overtime to haul in some money – they had sort of a permanent residence here, so hustling pool was impossible and temp jobs at the garage didn't pay too well.  
Besides, Sam had told him he'd be home late and not to worry, so that's what Dean did. 'Cause he was an awesome brother like that.

.

He avoided John's glare as he crouched next to his brother and scrutinized him. Sam was officially shitfaced, he lay there spread-eagle, bangs plastered to his sweaty forehead, mouth half-open and actually drooling.

"Dontcha think I woulda done that by now?" John growled.

"No offence, sir, but that mood you're in… I just wanted to check on him myself."

John scowled and took a step back to give Dean proper access to his brother. "He's so drunk he fell off the couch! I remember telling you to watch his back!"

"I thought… I just didn't-" Dean averted his gaze and slowly stood, bracing himself for whatever comeback John could muster.

"Yeah, now look what's come of it!" John brusquely interrupted.

Dean flinched and ducked his head. Dad was right of course, indulging Sam had always meant exposing him to danger.  
He should have told him to come home, to bring Sandy with him if he wanted to. He'd just wanted Sam to have a little downtime, give him some choices of his own.

"If something like this happens again, I'm not above going back to leaving you both with Bobby when I'm on hunts. You understand me, son?"

"Yessir." Dean nodded, not meeting his father's eyes.

"So what happened?"

Dean licked his lips. "I don't really know. He said he needed to go back to school for some science project and he'd be back late. I called him when he wasn't here for dinner and he said he'd stay at Sandy's, so…"

"So you're telling me you didn't hear him coming home like _this_?"  
John nudged Sam's arm with the tip of his boot and Sam didn't move at all.

Dean cast down his eyes and nodded again. "I took two shifts at the garage and I called him from work so I thought he'd just stayed at her place. I just-"

+#+

John laid a hand on his son's shoulder, firm but surprisingly gentle.  
"Look, Dean, I know how he can be. Once he starts begging, you just wanna give in- but you can't let him wander off alone like that. He doesn't even know what's after him."

Dean nodded.

"Sorry for wakin' you up there," he said, trying to let his rumbling voice sound soothing. Dean managed a smile and took the peace offering.

Stepping back, John release Dean's shoulder and took a long look at his son.  
"You been keeping up your training while I was gone?"

"Yessir."

"Sammy been 'causing you any trouble?"

"No, sir."

John nodded and looked around the room. Everything was tidy, the floor seemed scrubbed. The place looked even better than when they'd moved in.  
The house was tiny, but it was the first place they'd stayed in for longer than four months in a row over the past three years.  
Sam had wrenched a promise from him to stay here until he graduated. He hadn't exactly liked his son's idea, but Sam had sugarcoated it by promising longer training hours and backing them up on every hunt that came their way.

"Help me get him back on the couch?" John asked. He hadn't expected to see Sam down and out.  
Out of the two of them, Dean was the one who'd get drunk occasionally – he couldn't exactly blame his sons, though.  
With the life they lead, they had to blow off some steam every once in a while.

"Sure." Together they heaved Sam on the bed, Dean taking his feet and John supporting his shoulders.  
"Damn, Sam is heavy. I wonder where he puts that. He's still so skinny."

Dean was thankful Sam was just dead meat for now, 'cause he always got riled when John talked about him not building up as easily as Dean had when he was younger. Everything seemed to be just a tad more complicated with Sam.  
Dean just grew and built muscles, Sam grew and got cramps and growing aches and developed weird habits like checking whether he could still touch his thumb to his pinkie around his own wrist.

Dean went to school, did his chores and dropped out when it was time.  
Sam went to school, fell in love with books and of course his elementary school teacher, Mrs. Swan, always tried finishing school projects when they had to leave for the next town.  
While Dean, even when he got blindingly drunk, always managed to go to bed and stay in there - Sam had to fall out to prove his point.

John went to unpack his duffle and talked away about how the werewolf he had tracked already had someone on his heels, namely Caleb, whom John had almost mistaken for another member of the pack as he'd moved in the dark of the woods.  
Fortunately, against his usual motto of 'shoot first, ask questions later' he hadn't shot his friend because he kept thinking of Sam telling him he'd never actually seen any proof that weres hunt in packs.

After he'd stowed everything away, John sat him down in the kitchen and brewed coffee for himself and Dean.  
He spread a map and explained exactly where the wolf had been and how it had marked its territory.

"Do you remember that were in Montana? You took it head-on, took it out in less than three seconds after it'd crossed the wolfsbane."

Dean nodded; he still remembered the feeling of standing in the wolf's line of attack. He hadn't been thinking clearly, it'd been a reflex, the were had been homing in on the direction where the Impala was parked, Sam locked inside.

"That's when I knew you'd come into your own as a hunter. Been waiting for that moment with Sam ever since."

Dean cringed at that. Dad just kept comparing them, but Sam wasn't like him and he shouldn't be. Sam wasn't a killer.

"He can hunt down anything he put's his mind to, but he's of a different stamp. I know you don't wanna hear it, but that has to change."

"Dad."

John stood up and started rooting around in the kitchen cabinets, checking on the stocks.  
"Did I leave you enough this time?"

Dean nodded absently but focused on his little brother in the living room, who was muttering away in his sleep.  
John probably couldn't understand it, but Dean was tuned in on Sasquatch-speech. After a slurred "gonna kill me" which was vaguely familiar to Dean, followed a long silence and then something about "law school" and "Greyhound".

Dean went rigid; his heart pounding in a weird staccato.

* * *

+#+

**I was REALLY unsure about this story, so please leave a review and tell me what you think =)**


	2. Chapter 2

He felt John's eyes on him, but he had no clue whether his father had switched topics in the meantime and improvising an answer would be like admitting that he was too deep in thought to listen to his father.  
Plus, a thoughtful Dean generally gave reason to worry. He had to say something though; he had to snap out of it. Dean needed time to talk Sam out of this, cajole him into staying.

"Caleb still got that cool knife we stole in Sacramento?  
He said I could have it, but I kinda forgot about that when we were between hunts…"

John looked up from his map and grinned. "You're interested in that little pig stick?"

Dean managed to look honestly affronted "'Course I am. I earned it."

John huffed a laugh "You'll get it soon enough. It's not like we don't have our own arsenal."

"Come on Dad, a pure silver machete? That's pretty cool."

John nodded and moved out of Dean's way as he left the kitchen.

He went for the bathroom door as slowly as he could, locked it and sank to his knees.  
He couldn't face his father now. Not until his stomach stopped churning, his heart stopped pounding in his chest and his ribcage stopped feeling like it was shrinking, or whatever dramatic thing ribcages did.

+#+

When he was younger, Sam had invented ridiculously long school hours just so he wouldn't have to go home.  
Dean let him have his way mostly; he liked seeing his brother happy. If 'happy' meant brooding over books way beyond his age recommendation and walking around with a backpack as heavy as an infant, then Dean'd let him have that, too.

When Sam got older and they needed him on hunts, Dean couldn't let that slip anymore.  
But when Sam announced he was going to a soccer camp or on a field trip every so often, Dean turned a blind eye, always hoping John wouldn't see Sam reading in the library or shopping at the mall one day.

Later still, when Dad was gone on a hunt and Sam wanted some time alone with his respective girlfriend - so far there'd only been two, but he couldn't seem to remember their names, so he just went by calling them Candy and Sandy - Dean had wanted to believe him.

Of course, Dean knew perfectly well it was probably a trick.  
The only time Sam didn't have him as his watchdog was when he wanted one-on-one and when he was in school.  
Even when he was in school, Dean sometimes came over to check up on him, but he'd never let Sam know that.

So when John had taken off on an ordinary salt-n-burn two days ago, he'd let Sam stay at Sandy's.  
After all Sandy's dad had been a marine himself, Dean had checked up on the whole family, the history of the house, even Sandy's reputation in town. As far as he could see, they were squeaky-clean and Sandy was just as good for Sam as any girl he could think of.

So it seemed like Sandy wasn't the only one who wanted to go to college.

Sam had probably had his test results delivered to her house as well. Maybe being sneaky was part of the whole hunter agenda and came with the training they'd both endured, but he didn't like Sam keeping secrets from him. He was locked in the freaking bathroom because of this shit.

He kinda preferred Sam's alcohol-infused shut down to the stony silence Sam usually surrounded himself with when he was deep in thought.  
Of course, what had probably been meant to be a drunken haze, just enough to take the rough edges off reality, turned out to be more of a cataclysmic shock – which wasn't all that surprising, since, in spite of his physique, Sam was kind of a lightweight.

Guessing from how drunk he had to be to actually fall off his bed and not notice - even worse, to have John going ballistic (upon seeing the condition he was in) and not notice -  
alcohol was the only thing Sam could think of to make this better.  
Well, great minds thought alike. Dean wished he could pass out right next to Sam, so he wouldn't have to go through what was sure to follow once Sam sobered up.

Heads would roll tonight and he would put his on the line.

+#+

John knocked on the door. "Dean?"

Dean bit his lip and buried his head in his hands.

"Dean?"

If there'd ever been a good time for him to develop telepathic powers it would be now.  
Implanting the thought in his father's head that they really needed burgers right this minute and he should take a long time getting them, too, would be great.

"Listen, I…"

'Yeah, you're sorry, you didn't mean to scream at me' Dean thought. As if he'd ever been mad at his father for longer than two hours just for yelling at him, especially after hearing one of his rare half-apologies.  
He lifted his chin a little. "You will though."

He could practically see John run a hand over his mouth in a familiar gesture.  
"What's that supposed to mean, son?"

Dean shook his head. "Please, just go get groceries… or ammo."

John heaved a long sigh and took his hand from the door knob. "Dean, are you alright?"

Dean refused to let the waterworks take over, he had to get Dad out of the house first, otherwise he'd bolt in the bathroom, demanding answers, in five seconds flat.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Dad, I'm fine."

"Right."

He heard John rustling in a duffle, taking unsure steps towards the bathroom door again, pacing the room once, twice and–finally- silence.

+#+


	3. Chapter 3

John let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, practically melting into the truck's seat. Getting kicked out by his oldest was a first, but they both needed some time to gather their wits.  
Tromping in on Dean and forcing him to spill wouldn't work, he knew that much about his son, but he also knew that both his sons were hurting and it was his job to make this right. Would be easier if he knew what was going on, though.

Fortunately, Dean didn't have it in him to lie to him, not about Sam. Not when it really mattered, anyway. His silence spoke volumes about his condition.  
There was something eating at him and John was pretty sure it wasn't just the usual guilt trip he'd throw himself in over Sam.

Dean would rarely raise his voice against John, only when Sam was involved. Even when he'd only reached up to John's hips, he'd stepped in front of Sam whenever he thought John was going too hard on him.  
It had taken Dean a long time to realize that no matter what John did to Sam, it was nothing compared to what others would do, should they get their hands on him.  
Once he'd wrapped his mind around that, he had taken to training Sam himself, pushing him just as much as John had Dean.

Of course, at the age of twenty-three Dean had long stopped stepping in front of Sam every time he got himself in hot water, but he still watched him like a hawk.  
They'd been fighting a lot lately, more than ever and that was saying something.  
Sam seemed to be convinced that smart kids had to go to college somehow. He still resented John 'cause it took him a year longer to graduate, because they moved so much.

John unknowingly gripped the wheel a little tighter.

Driving came as easy as breathing these days, long hours in the car paid off when you were deep in thought. He was almost constantly mulling something over in his head.  
Things he wouldn't let his children know, things he was keeping from them for their own good.  
He hadn't been able to protect his sons from knowing about the creatures out there, but he refused to let them live in fear.

He wound up in front of the grocery store, only realizing where he'd gone when he'd changed the gear to neutral.  
They'd always had an arsenal bigger than they could afford. He didn't feel like adding bullets to it when he could also buy something to pacify his son, the biggest food fan he'd ever know.  
Not that Dean was gluttonous; his son just reveled in the feeling of having food around him, accessible whenever he wanted.

Part of that was because John had once unintendedly left them short of supplies when the Wendigo he was chasing at that time had clawed him up before he managed to set fire to it.  
He still felt bad for that every time they talked about that one winter where he'd left and they'd been forced to share a bottle of whisky to make the aching hunger bearable.  
Finding both his underage sons sprawled on the living room floor, snickering and babbling, oblivious of his presence and the fact that the heating didn't work, wasn't some experience he wanted to repeat.

The other part of it was that Dean was just Dean, he was all up for the sensual enjoyments of life.

+#+

Stepping back into the hallway, grocery bags in both arms, carefully closing the door with his left foot, John craned his neck and listened attentively. He didn't know what he'd expected – given the state Sam'd been in when he left, it was clear he wouldn't be up and about – but the utter silence still seemed unnatural to him.

Upon entering the living room, he discovered that Sam had managed to throw down all the blankets; they were pooling on the floor.

The guns were set out on the living room table, a can of gun oil and a half-empty glass of coke next to them. Whatever it was, it had to be bad enough for Dean to resort to this kind of meditation.

John found Dean in the kitchen, staring down a chicken sandwich like it had gravely insulted his mother.  
As soon as John entered, Dean grabbed one of the bags from him and started putting things away like his life depended on it.

"Whoa there, I think the tuna's already dead, no need slamming it around like that," John soothed softly, lifting the can out of Dean's hand.

Dean nodded, put down the bag next to the sink, hunched his shoulders and filed out of the kitchen under his father's curious gaze.

Something had been off kilter between his sons ever since he'd come back from his hunt and whatever it was, it didn't look as though they'd resolved it.

When John emerged from the kitchen, Dean had taken to cleaning the guns again. Dean kept his head down as he worked; every swift, smooth movement to a tee, the precision and cadence almost virtuosic.  
John sat down next to his son and put the sandwich Dean had left in the kitchen in front of him, right next to the gun oil.

"Anything you wanna tell me, son?"

Dean shook his head, his hand lingering briefly on the trigger.

"Anything happen while I was away?"

Another shake of the head, followed by a sidelong glance.  
"I'm fine Dad. We're fine."

+#+

They were always fine, they had to be. It was Dean's job to make sure Sam was alright and he knew that, but what had been pretty easy when Sam was a toddler turned out to be almost impossible when Sam grew older.

Sam didn't want a watchdog and Dean didn't want him to feel like he needed one – except that he kinda did.  
Sam never understood just why they were 'traveling' the country. It wasn't just because of the hunts that came their way, it was also to protect Sam.

Right after Mom died, Dad quit his job at the garage, handed his half over to Mike and walked out of Lawrence.  
Well not so much walked out as fled, Dean doesn't really remember it, only that their babysitter had been dead and Dad had been so scared that he didn't even go back for half of their belongings.

He remembered Dad was so terrified that he wouldn't even let him go to school till he was seven, although by then he could field-strip the Browning and had seen his father kill a man.  
That's how their lives went, learn to shoot before you learn your ABCs.

It was worth it, though, 'cause when Dad told him they had to leave town because 'the monsters' knew where they were, he didn't feel helpless.  
He remembers how much traveling sucked, being the new kid, but after one of Sam's teachers tried to abduct him and a strange black car started following them around, he stopped complaining.

When the guy driving the car told them he was hunting Sam, Dean shot his first person. End of story.

No matter how much shit Sam gave Dean for following Dad's orders, Dean knew Sam was alive solely because of them.  
Trouble was, Sam didn't see it that way.

And now Sam wanted to go to college and Dean didn't have the first clue how to stop him.

* * *

+#+


	4. Chapter 4

"Dean?" John said, giving him an apprehensive look. "Are you listening?"

Dean grabbed the sandwich from the plate and nodded quickly, trying to look like he wasn't engrossed in thought at all.

"We're gonna have to leave tomorrow. Jim needs us."

Dean choked down the bite and swallowed thickly.  
"Sam's gonna miss school."

"It's just a few days. We'll be back at the weekend if things go well."

John looked over at Sam and Dean saw some indefinable emotion flitter over his face.

"What if they don't?" Dean put down the sandwich and gave John a pointed look.

"It's not up for discussion."

"Yeah, Dad, what if they don't?" Sam said suddenly, sitting up.

"Look who's back from the dead," John replied snarkily, turning his attention to his youngest.

"You said we could stay here until I graduated. You promised. Prom's on Friday!"

"We'll be gone for one week only. It's not like you were going to go anyway."

Dean flinched at that. He and Sam had planned this. They had bought Sam's tuxedo last week.  
Dean had even listened to Sam's prosy speech 'cause of course his little brother was valedictorian.  
Sam would never tell Dad, but this was a big deal to him. Something he wanted, a memory he deserved.

Sam stuck out his chin in that defiant manner Dean knew got John riled in seconds.

"Why?"

John sighed, making to leave.

Sam shot up, grabbing his arm, more to ground himself than to keep John from leaving, if the weakness of his grip was any indicator.  
"Why does Jim need us?" Sam repeated slowly, between gritted teeth.

John sidestepped him with one quick move.  
"I'll talk to you when you look like a person again."

+#+

Sam blinked at his father, gaping like a stranded fish. Then he turned on his heels, heading for his room.  
He never thought that he'd resent his father coming back, even if he resented him going away in the first place.  
Now that he looked at him though, he felt that tight clench in his gut, the mix of rage and disdain usually directed to the world at large and not concentrated on one person.

He hated the way Dad came back and wandered around like the place was his, like he wasn't just a visitor swinging by every few weeks, demanding he and Dean stand to attention.

He slammed the door dramatically and cringed as the brutal noise caused his headache to leap up a few notches.

He'd already squeezed most of his stuff in two duffle bags. Dean would have to buy a new one, but Sam'd leave him some money for it.  
He'd somehow known that, one way or another, he wasn't gonna get to attend his own prom, so he'd gotten the money for his tux back.  
That should pay for the bus ride; he hadn't really planned any further ahead. It was borrowed money anyway, since Dean had paid for everything, but he couldn't worry about that now.

Leaving this place had seemed unimaginable and it still did. He'd never been on his own, but he'd just have to take it one step at a time.  
Being hung over didn't really help any, and he still didn't know how to start this conversation He was pretty sure there wasn't any way that wouldn't get his ass kicked.

Flopping down on the bed, he focused on calming his breath. He was terrified. Terrified and clueless. Way to start things.

Pressing the heels of his hands over burning eyes, he listened to his father's hushed voice and Dean's muffled responses. Dean probably had no clue what was going on, but of course Dad was firing questions at him.

How was it that John always got to ask the questions in their family?  
"I'm your father, I know what you need to know." How often had he heard that?  
Dad didn't even have to come back here to control them, Dean never went against anything the man said, no matter whether he was with them or six states away, like whatever he said was the fucking law.

It was like no matter where they went, where they lived, there was always this shadow looming over them. What would Dad think, what would Dad do, what would Dad want…  
Sam couldn't find it in himself to care anymore. How could you care for a person who always kept you at arm's length?

He wasn't an idiot, he could see Dad got badly hurt on more than a few hunts, but God forbid you'd want to help when John came stumbling in, sometimes limping, sometimes carefully holding his side, tension written all over his face.  
He only ever let Dean do it and even then only when he absolutely couldn't patch himself up on his own.

It was like Dad had every right to shield them from anything out there, whatever it was that got him so worried they'd find out about, but then he could also throw them in battle himself without a reason, without any explanation, without even batting an eye.

+#+

He almost jumped when a knock on the door startled him. He knew by the rapping of the knuckles that it was Dean outside.  
"Come in."

Dean closed the door and leaned against it, looking down at Sam with an indefinable look in his eyes.

"So you're going to college."

Sam spluttered, then coughed as he felt his windpipe suddenly tightening.  
"I… I've been meaning to tell you"

"Right, and then you forgot about it, huh? Had more important things to do."

"Dean, it's not like that." Sam squirmed under Dean's gaze.

"Oh, I know what it's like Sam. This is Sacramento Science Fair all over again."

Sam flinched. He'd wanted to go to that science fair so badly that he just kept it to himself and asked his teacher if she could take him with her.  
He'd made something up about his Dad having to drive a truck load over to the Canadian border and not being able to make it.

At first, it was the nerves that kept him from telling Dean, but the day of the fair he'd been so excited that he'd even forgotten to write Dean a note.  
Dean had been waiting for him after school and when Sam hadn't showed up, he'd gone straight home and called Bobby.  
Needless to say the whole armada was out by the time Sam came back late in the evening.

He'd been grounded for a month, but the worst of it hadn't been his father reading him the riot act, the worst had been the look in Dean's eyes.  
It was the exact same look he was getting now, way past sadness or disappointment.  
It was that bleak, impervious look, the one that turned Dean's eyes into a million different shards, like green floes, not letting anything on, but swallowing all the brio usually dancing in his brother's eyes.

"You're an ungrateful piece of shit, you know that? Do you have any idea how much we've done for you? So you could what, be Joe college, just bail on us?" Dean started, his voice getting louder with every word.

"Look at me, you little prick!"

Dean grabbed Sam's collar, hoisted him to his feet in one swift motion and got in his face. "What's the matter with you, huh?"


	5. Chapter 5

Sam was trembling in his brother's grip, just about to answer, when John entered without so much as knocking.

"Dean, let him go."

Dean released him, his eyes glazing over, taking on that weird sea green color of hurt Sam hadn't seen in a long time.

"Are you done packing Sam?"

Sam wouldn't have it, shaking his head in disbelief. "You really think you can come back like you own this place and-"

"I _do_ own this place, Sam. And I come back whenever I damn well please. I don't have to explain myself to you."

"You're right, you don't. 'Cause I'll be gone tomorrow, so I don't even wanna know what you're gonna be doing at Jim's."

Dean spread his arms and stepped between them, a knot of fear in his stomach.  
John stared right through him, his eyes boring directly into Sam. The youngest ducked his head and peered up through his bangs.

Dean thought he heard John give something like a low snarl and a shiver ran down his spine.  
He wouldn't be able to hold them back if they decided to go ballistic at the same time.

"Dean, get out of the way" said John, his tone signaling there was no room for discussion.

Dean shook his head, not trusting his voice to come out steady,

"Dean…" pleaded Sam from behind, but he could hear the fear in his little brother's voice.  
No one would lay a hand on Sam as long as he lived, no matter how much he deserved it, not even his father.

"I said no!"

"Fine," John said, shifting his weight from one foot to another, looking almost feral in the way he licked his lips.  
"Talk, Sam."

Dean could hear Sam swallowing, trying to find his words. John cocked his head slightly, the way a dog does when it's listening intently.

"I'm leaving for Stanford. I'll be out of here tonight, I'll have them forward my diploma, so I'll be out of your hair."

Dean could almost see John's hair bristle, saw how his father fought for control, steadily clenching and unclenching his fists.  
John closed his eyes and flexed his jaw muscles. When he opened his eyes again, some of the fierceness had left them.

"We're going to be in Minnesota tomorrow, Jim needs us on a hunt. All of us. So you go pack your bags and we're leaving in an hour."

+#+

Dean felt Sam take a step back, stiffening his shoulders.  
"I can't. I'll be in Palo Alto. The semester starts next week. I've gotta be there."

"Sam, I'm not gonna say it again-"

"Fine, I don't wanna hear it. I got it the first time. You don't want me to go. You know what? Who cares what you want? This is my life and I can do whatever I want with it."

John's eyes narrowed and his upper lip twitched.

"I'm not gonna listen to any more of your patronizing bullshit! So what if I'm not the son you expected, 'cause tell you what, you sure as hell ain't the father I expected."

"You don't wanna go down that road, Sam," John said in a deceptively calm voice.

"Oh, I'm going. You know who should have gone before me? Dean. He's a hell of a lot smarter than you ever gave him credit for, he could have gone to college, he could have left this-"

"Hey!" Dean was standing right there, trying to keep them from each other's throats, while they were waving his life between them like a trump card.

"See, that's the difference between Dean and you. He knows where he belongs; he's smart enough not to ditch his family."

"Family? You call this a family? Look around you, Dad! You're gone so much I barely even remember the last time we even had a meal together, let alone talked during one.  
But then, we never really talk anyway, do we, because of your crap need-to-know deal!"

"I'm your father, I know what you need to know!"

"My father? Really? 'Cause all I ever hear Dean call you is sir."

Dean saw John wincing almost imperceptibly, Sam had struck a chord better left untouched.  
"I remember raising you, Sam, maybe you've forgotten, but I tried to protect you from what's out there. Hell, if I could do the job without you I'd _never _have gotten you into it in the first place."

This was as close to 'I need you' as Dad would ever get. Dean sucked in a deep breath and tried to process the turns this argument was taking.

"You never even trusted me to keep a grimoire (A1), Dad. I can't shoot like Dean, I can't work cases like you, I'm not even allowed to drive the freaking car. What in hell do you need me for?"

"You can hunt just fine, Sam, you're just too selfish to help us out!"

"Oh, yeah 'cause it's so selfish to go to college. You know, other parents would be proud of their children for going to college.  
Other parents would let their kids play soccer if they wanted to, hell maybe they'd even come to their games."

"You know I didn't have the-"

"Exactly, _you_ never had time for us, so why would I have time for you? You know who got me my first school bag? Dean. You know who helped me get my files when we had to leave town? Dean.  
You put all that on his shoulders without batting an eye. _You _are the selfish one in this family, it's all about you and your stupid hunt!"

"Whoa, Sam, I'm right here, man-" It was useless, John just talked right over him.

"You know what _you_ put on Dean's shoulders? I know you never went to a soccer camp in your life, Sam, I know where your field trips went and the library was definitely not part of the agenda.  
For every time you ditched us, he had to lie. He covered up for everything you ever did. I know you read my journal, too. I tried to keep you from the job, I tried to keep this all from you, but you were the one always asking the wrong questions."

Dean felt like a human shark fence, except in his case he never knew who was the shark and who the swimmer.  
They were spinning each other's words so fast he started feeling dizzy just from listening.

"Who do you think is gonna watch your back? Me? 'Cause I'll be out searching for the bastard that killed your mother. Dean? He'll be out there with me."

"We're trained, Dad. We can take care of ourselves. Hell, it was you who sent us on hunts on our own and yeah, we got bruised and battered, but we always came back whole."

His father just shook his head, despair in his eyes. "You don't understand, Sam. We're stronger as a team."

"We've never been a team; we've always been following you around, like soldiers following a fucking drill sergeant."

"We're stronger _together_."

"That's rich, coming from you! How many times have you left us behind and gone out on your own?"

"I did what needed to be done. There's good people dying out there!"

"Why do we have to be the ones who save them? Why do they get to have a life and we don't? Why?"

"If it weren't for this you wouldn't even be alive, Sam!"

"What's so bad about dying when I've never been allowed to have a life of my own anyway? Look around you, Dad. All of this is you! The hunts, the crappy motel rooms, the weapon training.  
I never had a place in your life, so I might as well leave," Sam said, the bitterness in his voice drenching the room.

"Let's talk about who has a place in whose life, Sam! Did you ever stop to listen to yourself?"

"Shut up, both of you!" Dean didn't know whom he wanted to deck more for what he'd said.

"You're obsessed with this!" Sam talked right over him again.

"I said shut up, Sam!" Dean said, turning around to face his brother.

"Don't you get it Dean? This isn't about me, it's about us. He's been treating you like crap this entire time. I mean, I can't even count all the towns we've been in so far, the things we killed… He's been through so many identities that last time we had to get him to the hospital I didn't even know what name to write on the papers. He keeps doing this like it'll ever actually change anything and he drags us into it."

"He's protecting us!"

"He's never protected us. He doesn't give a flying fuck how we deal with this."

"You think I wanted this?" John said, stepping closer, pretty effectively trapping Dean in between them.

Sam's eyes narrowed and he clenched his fists.  
"That's not what this is about. This is about you leaving for three weeks and not calling once. This is about you coming back and not telling us where you've been or what you've been doing.  
This is about you going away for so long that your ten-year-old son had to bring his six-year-old brother to the hospital with a fever and then screaming at him for attracting the authorities' attention."

"You would have gotten into foster care!"

"You don't lay that kinda crap on your children! We're not your fucking soldiers!"

* * *

+#+

(A1) As Jo mentions in her blog (February 3, 1998):

"Grimoire - a book of magical knowledge full of astrological stuff, names and descriptions demons, and information about spells, summoning, and talismans. I think there are a lot of different grimoires written by different people. I've never seen one, but Gordon has. He promised to show me sometime."


	6. Chapter 6

"You think Mom would have wanted this for us? This kind of life? You think she'd want you to drag us everywhere like we're luggage to hunt something you don't even know how to find? I bet she's real proud of you!"

Dean saw tremors run through his father, he saw John clench his teeth so hard the muscles in his jaw twitched.

Sam couldn't know this, he'd been too small, but Dad hadn't wanted to take them with him when he first started hunting.

He'd tried to leave them with Pam & Bill, tried to give them some normalcy while he was on the road, chasing some enemy he didn't have the first clue about, let alone known how to kill.

It had been Dean who'd pitched a fit when John returned, Dean who demanded they be on the road with John rather than with some strangers he'd never seen before his mother died.  
If Sam wanted to be mad at someone, it should be him.

"Oh, so now you care what she wants, but when I wanna find the demon that killed her you couldn't care less?

"_**You **_couldn't protect this family. I was just a baby back then, so stop dragging me around because _**you**_ made a mistake."

Dean turned around to see his father punch the wall so hard they could both hear his knuckles break.

"Shut up, Sam!" Dean screamed, now shielding his father from Sam's view.

"Dean, you can't do this. You can't take his side. Not now." Sam sounded genuinely stunned.

"Watch me."

Sam tried to shove Dean out of his way, but Dean didn't budge an inch.  
He was just about to haul off, when John caught his arm in mid-air.

"You can go Sam."

Sam's jaw dropped, his arms falling to his sides. It seemed like all his energy had left him all of a sudden.

Dean wanted to scream but his body decided to act on its own, making his voice seem composed, detached even. "What?"

John lowered his gaze, avoiding his son's eyes as he repeated, "You can go, Sam. I won't keep you here against your will."  
John stepped aside and gently nudged Dean's shoulder to make him deblock the door frame.

Dean shivered at the undertone in this message and looked at his father in horror. He knew what was coming.

John looked back up, tears filling his eyes. Dean could count on one hand the times he had seen his father cry.  
"I said you can go, Sam. Now leave, before I think better of it."

Sam let go of Dean's shirt, stepping back, eyes wide and unbelieving.

"And if what we do, what your brother and I do, means so little to you…"

His voice trailed off and Dean wanted do something to break this silence before his father did, but his body wouldn't react.

"…you should stay gone!"

He felt Sam's tall frame sag and crumble behind him.

John stubbornly blinked the tears away and growled, "I'm not gonna repeat myself. Get your stuff and leave my house."

If there'd ever been a moment for Dean to prove his worth to this family, it was now.  
He just couldn't say anything. He stood there, dumbfounded, staring at his world scattering around him.  
First John stormed off, then Sam filed out after him, both their duffle bags in his hands.

Finally, when Sam had almost made it out of the door, Dean dashed behind him. "Sammy!"

He half wrestled and half hugged him, clinging to his shoulders.  
Sam tried to shake him off half-heartedly, but then turned around to look at his brother.

"Sammy, he doesn't mean it. You walk out that door, he'll regret it. Please, man."

Sam snorted under his tears, his grim face broken by a weary attempt at a smile. "Yeah, only when I'm gone does he wish I were here."

Dean looked up at Sam, searching for something to say, searching for a way to keep this from happening.

"He loves you. Why would he drag you everywhere if he didn't?"

"Then why doesn't it matter that I don't want this life? That I've never wanted it? I'm 19, Dean. I'm not a soldier. I can't do this."

+#+

How often had Sam said that? 'I'm not a soldier, I'm not a dog you can bark orders at, I want answers, Dad, I wanna know where we're going.'  
How often had Sam accused him for not saying the same things?  
Just as often as Dad had told Sam to grow a pair and not pussy out on them on every hunt, Sam had told Dean to stand up for himself.

Dean could still hear it, he still remembered how it went in the last town.

"Dean, I'm not blind, you like it here, you made friends here, just ask him to stay."

He had shaken his head, tried to ignore Sam's bewildered stare, had gone about packing his stuff, rolling everything into little packs that wouldn't take up too much space in the duffle.

'You gotta have dreams of your own. All that crap you're feeding me about not liking school, I can see right through it."

Dean had turned around at that, shot Sam a look that was his way of saying the conversation had finished.

"Don't even give me that look, Dean. I'm right, you know I am. Just because Dad's such a prick-"

"Saaam!"

"Dean, how long do you wanna be part of his crusade? Till your fifties? And then what? Dad will be dead, you will be limping or in a goddamn wheelchair -if you last that long-  
and you still won't have found the damn thing, 'cause if anyone were able to find it, it's Dad, but newsflash, Dean:  
He's been searching for this thing for the last 18 years and he's come up with nothing!"

He'd just turned around and gone back to packing.

"Dean!" Sam, of course, hadn't been able to let it go.

"What, Sam, what do you want me to say? Yeah, let's go ahead, have some apple pie life, pretend that our mother didn't get killed by a demon, that we haven't been trained as hunters,  
that we couldn't kill those civvies out there in three seconds flat, that all we ever used the chemistry lessons for was learning new ways to torch some evil sons of bitches while your classmates were home asleep or worrying about their first pimple?

Tell me, when you walk into a room, and you don't think about your stance, don't tell yourself to blend in, do you find yourself assuming a fighting stance?  
Do you look around, counting the possible threats? Do you?"

Sam'd shot him a sheepish look.

"Then shut up and pack your freaking duffle."

+#+

He'd known it wouldn't work forever, guilting Sam into tagging along. Still, he'd never been able to imagine _this_, not even in his worst nightmares.

"I can't do this. I'm sorry, Dean, I can't."


	7. Chapter 7

Sam suddenly looked so forlorn, standing on the front porch, looking everywhere but into Dean's eyes.

"I know. I never wanted you to do this."

Sam's eyes took on a strange expression for a moment, then he looked away, curling his fingers in his hoodie like he wanted to keep himself from reaching out.  
"I'm sorry. Just take care of yourself. And Dad."

"No, Sammy, you're not leaving. We– I could come with you."

"No, you can't, Dean. I don't want you to. I have to do this. For me."

Dean let go of his shoulders and stepped back. He had to let Sam have this. The white picket fence, the hot wife, the 2.5 kids and a cool beer when he came home.  
The kind of life they'd always looked at from the outside, invading people's privacy while their own 'home' was parked just across the street.  
He had to let him go.

"Right."

He swallowed, clearing his throat and blinking back tears. He mustn't make this any harder on Sam. It wasn't liked Sam owed him.  
It wasn't like he'd spent the last 23 years watching out for the kid, trying so hard to give him everything he needed, trying to make it better. He'd failed, so, clearly, Sam didn't owe him anything.

To Sam the woman who'd given birth to him wasn't a mother, he didn't remember her like Dean did. Mary was just a name to him, and that alone cut deeper than Dean could bear.

He held up his hand, beckoning Sam to stay where he was and ran back inside to search for his sickle. He'd gotten it for his sixth birthday, back when Dad still kept track of their birthdays and remembered to come home for Christmas.  
He'd always wanted to imitate John with his big bowie knives and he remembered learning to fight with it, how proud Dad had been.

Jogging back, he weighed it in his hand, one of the few treasures he possessed. He handed it over to Sam. "Take it."

Sam nodded, taking a step forward.

"Don't forget what Dad taught you," Dean forced out, hoping Sam wouldn't look at him too closely, hoping for once Sam would let what he was really saying go uncommented.

Sam's eyes widened. "I'd never-"

Dean shook his head. "You got a bus to catch, Sammy. Want me to give you a ride?"

As Sam turned around, Dean saw tremors run through his body and the tense line of his back shudder with the beginning of a sob. "No, it's fine. I'll walk.

+#+

And just like that Dean knew he wouldn't call Sam once.

Sam wouldn't call because he thought Dad would call him weak, would think his son had caved.  
Sam still thought that was what John thought about him, that he was too weak to defend himself, that he was a liability and that the only reason Dad didn't tell Sam about the monsters he hunted was because Sam wouldn't be strong enough to deal with it.

Why it had never crossed Sam's mind that John was just irking him with these lines, that he was pushing him only because Sam never failed to react, kinda escaped Dean.

Sam had always worked his hardest when he'd wanted to show Dad he'd underestimated him and, in a way, this was nothing different.  
Sam wanted to show John that he was strong; he wasn't ready to be ordered around anymore.

While Sam always thought Dad wanted to belittle him, Dad only ever said those things because he was worried.

He wanted them ready, for what he wouldn't say, but Dean could guess.  
And anything that was bad enough for John Winchester to want you ready for it, to want you to prepare for it 'cause he thinks he might not be able to protect you from it, was a good enough reason for Dean to do his best.

So, Sam wouldn't call 'cause he was bull-headed and defiant and much more like Dad than was good for him.

Dean wouldn't call because it would break him right in the middle.

It would tear him apart to hear Sam at the other end of the line 'cause Sam should be within arm's reach, the same arms that carried him away from the fire.  
He wouldn't call 'cause with Sam gone living a life of his own, all Dean had to cling to was Dad, and given the life they lead, that left him with a fist full of nothing, like chasing a ghost.

Dean wouldn't talk for a whole month. There was no point in talking when it never stopped things from happening.

* * *

+#+

**I was REALLY unsure about this story, so please leave a review and tell me what you think =)**


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